Through the Grapevine
by BlackRoseGirl666
Summary: Carlos Hiruta didn't disappear after Tyson's battle with the Blade-Sharks. Rick Anderson discovers this on a walk through Beycity one afternoon, and falls a little in love in the process. To bad Biovolt isn't quite done with beyblade, even if its just hurting those on the streets. PAIRINGS: RickXCarlos, MiguelXKai WARNINGS: Violence, Swearing, Kissing and Minor Character Death!
1. Opening

**A is For Ashtray**

The first time Rick's eyes landed on the rough and tumble street captain, it had been on a street corner in one of Beycity's less… favorable neighborhoods. The teenager had been leaning back against a grimy alleyway wall with six or seven other kids grouped around him as he gave a basic lesson on how to salvage parts from blades you won (or stole).

For some reason, something about the teen had caught Rick's eye. Maybe it was the sparkle in the younger's dark eyes as he checked a piece of a beginner's work or maybe it was the way his shirt pulled taunt over his toned chest when the ravenette went to crouch to another kid's level, but whatever it was it had sparked something in Rick that had made him go over and ask the guy out.

And it was that spark that the teen (who Rick would later come to know as Carlos) thoroughly squished like the end of a cigarette into an **ashtray** when the captain coolly informed Rick, that no, he did not want to be spotted with the same guy who couldn't even beat his former captain in a stadium battle, never mind out on the streets.

But you know what they say: "anger makes the heart grow stronger."

…Or was that distance?

* * *

><p><strong>B is For Blink<strong>

It was amazing what could happen in the time span of a blink. Really, it truly was.

For one, in the blink of an eye wars could change direction, assassinations could be carried out, people could die, things could end…

And sometimes, things could begin.

Like them. Their relationship. Which, as Carlos insisted (and thus made Kai's lips twitch) had gone from stalker and stalkee to dating boyfriends in the blink of eye when Rick had cornered Carlos on that same corner they'd first met on and kissed him for the grand total of one second in front of about half the Blade Sharks before declaring that if Carlos didn't find that gutsy enough for him, then he obviously didn't know anything about guts.

Carlos had then grabbed the much taller Rick Anderson by the lapels of his pristine white vest and pulled the older teen into a steamy kiss that attracted many a howl of encouragement from the gathering crowd before whispering seductively in Rick's ear that he still had him beat seeing as Carlos's kiss had lasted way longer than a **blink**.

* * *

><p><strong>C is For Cuts<strong>

The first time Rick had seen Carlos after a street battle it had sent the older teen into a rage as he watched his-almost-nearly-probably-in-a-week-or-two-more boyfriend stumble into his apartment (that Rick just maybe-might-have broken into in order to kiss the ravenette some more without the younger finding a way to evade him) covered in enough scrapes and bruises and bleeding gashed to make a nurse wince.

Carlos, in the face of Rick's avenger-fit rage, had simply asked the older teen if he'd been off the streets so long that he'd forgotten what it was to participate in a battle.

That and why the hell Rick was in his apartment in the first place.

Rick had just snapped his jaw shut and wrapped the tanned teenager up in his arms, content to stand there for a while with Carlos sputtering and blushing in his arms while he kissed away all the **cuts** he came across.

* * *

><p><strong>D is For Drink<strong>

"Drink?"

Those had been the first words he'd heard anyone say to him since the ambulance had taken away his co-captain, blood leaking from the clear-through bullet wound in his chest.

It might have been because he'd warned his third that if anyone came after him he might snap.

It could have been because he'd isolated himself up on the roof of his apartment building soon after.

Or perhaps it could have been because he'd conveniently left his phone in his apartment after he'd texted Kai a five-word message about what happened.

_Cam's dead. It was Them. _

He hadn't felt anymore was needed.

He accepted the beer (and Rick's hand, which apparently came with it) deftly.

"Guns aren't allowed in battles." Rick's smooth, deep voice said quietly through the night.

Carlos nodded slowly. It was one of the few, scarce rules of street blading. No guns. Officially, it was because it made the battles go too quickly. In reality, it was because no one really wanted to die, or become a killer.

They just wanted to blade, freely and without restriction.

"So what happened?" Rick asked, pushing his four-months-lover gently, trying to figure out what was going on. He'd known something had gone wrong when Carlos hadn't called him after when the battle was supposed to end, but when Carlos's bloody third in command had come to his door looking like a deer in headlights… that's when things had gotten crazy.

Who got shot during beyblade battles, Street or otherwise? And what did it have to do with Carlos and his gang? Possibly one of the cleanest street-blader gangs out there?

Carlos absently fingered the bullet in his hand; utterly perfect even after making its way through his second's body and into the brick wall directly behind him, mere inches from Carlos's head.

It was medium sized and somehow white beneath the red blood that covered it; the insignia of a large capital B with a lightning bolt through it was pressed into the metal.

Carlos tossed it into the air lazily once before catching it in his hand and holding it between his thumb and finger so Rick could see the symbol.

"What happened was that Biovolt got sick of playing around." Carlos squeezed Rick's hand tightly as the realization hit him, leaving him feeling dazed. "It seems they want their toys back, one way or another."

Rick simply blinked a few times before nodding and throwing back the last of his **drink**, blessedly not asking Carlos why the hell Biovolt cared about him so much as to kill over him.

* * *

><p><strong>E is For Effects<strong>

Kai Hiwatari sat tense under the fingers of his own lover as he considered what the effects of his last message from Carlos were going to be.

So Biovolt was back, their twenty-four-hours' notice being the death of Carlos's second, a kid named Cameron who was also from the Abbey, though he hadn't quite been there long enough to get too fucked with, thus being expendable.

His death, if anything, just meant that Biovolt wasn't taking prisoners this time.

But did that mean that all of them were marked? Or was it just people close to them they had to worry about? God, Kai hoped he could keep this away from the stadium this time; the last thing he needed was the Bladebreakers or anyone else getting involved again…

Though, he guessed that would be impossible this time around, what with Rick and all…

Kai just hoped Rick knew what he was doing with Carlos, because if the ex-street-blader hurt the other teen… well, let's just say that Kai had known Carlos longer than Rick and that it would really suck for both him and the All-Starz if Rick went mysteriously missing.

As Kai sighed and leaned back in his lover's arms, Miguel just stayed silent and watched his red-eyed boyfriend of a year and a half try and puzzle out what to do next, trying to keep his worry for the younger teen and the other ex-Abbey kids from showing.

He had a bad feeling about this, a feeling that told him regardless of what Kai and Carlos and Rick and everyone else tried to do, the ripples from this particular stone would definitely have side **effects** for everyone. Upper-Ground blader or not.

* * *

><p><strong>F is For False<strong>

Rick had forgotten just how false the world of Underground (also known as Street) Blading was.

Sure, he remembered making alliances with people only to start scheming to get them ousted a few months later, and he remembered doing whatever was necessary to keep his gang on the top. But, he was sure he'd never been as good at it as Carlos was.

And seeing as back in his day Rick's gang had been number one in New York, that was saying something.

It was amazing, really; watching the 5'10 ravenette as he moved around the assembled group silently, talking with people and feeling them out, subtly coaxing them into giving out information, sensing how they would react if things got any more heated before compiling it and moving on to the next group.

The fact that he was doing all this while still grieving for his second (at said second's _funeral_) was all the more impressive.

But it also made Rick consider just what else about the younger blader was false; it made him wonder if, perhaps, Carlos wasn't just good at coaxing information but feelings as well…

Rick sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, he didn't think he'd be able to handle it if it was.

Rick's attention snapped back to the present as he felt someone take his hand. Feeling the smooth leather of Carlos's traditional wrist guards rub against his black and white ones Rick was content to wrap his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.

His shaking shoulders.

"Carlos, baby, you alright?" All his earlier fears disappeared after seeing the ravenette's face, pale beneath his tan and his eyes red rimmed.

"I'm fine," The teen replied, biting down on his lip. "Just not sure how much longer I can keep this… stuff, up. Not here at least." He said, straightening up. "It's usually Kai who handles this sort of thing, but…"

The rest didn't need explaining. Kai couldn't be here because it would draw to much suspicion from the media, who would ask questions that couldn't be answered lest his past as a street blader come up which would put him out of favor with the public…

Which wouldn't be good. At all.

Rick just sighed. Yeah, he was getting really sick of all these falsities, but at least having Carlos here, confessing to him that he was sick of it too, which Rick was sure he'd never told anyone before, went a long way to helping him figure out what was **false** and what wasn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, yes I'm starting a new story even if I already have so many others to work on, but the good news is that this one is only going to be about four chapters long and that I've already got most of it planned out.<strong>

**Also, you owe this fict, and the up-coming chapter of Coming Over For Christmas, to the lovely Garfakcy-chan! Who I have spent I rather long time chatting to and gave me the ideas for both this story, the new COFC chapter and the very idea of this pairing! Give it up for Garfakcy-chan everybody!**

**Sincerely,**

**BlackRoseGirl666 **

**Ps. I'm currently undecided on what other parings to have in this story besides the ones mentioned as of yet, please don't feel afraid to give me some suggestions!**


	2. Rising Action

**G is For Grim **

It was in the next few days after the funeral that Rick realized just how grim their situation truly was.

Each one would start off with Rick prying Carlos out of bed and coaxing the younger teen to eat something before he began pouring over that day's newspaper, flipping through it to the obituaries first where he circled the pictures of the young people who he knew bladed (or had bladed at one point) on the streets.

The first day he'd done this Rick had gently tried to convince him that there wouldn't be anyone dead.

Carlos had wound up circling five that day.

Next he went through the rest of the paper, circling any events such as large charity donations or corporation take overs. Those were then further researched via the internet and in most cases confirmed to be perpetrated by the known aliases Biovolt used when they couldn't do something publicly.

Lists were then made and then sent to Kai, who then did something with them (apparently Rick's vocabulary wasn't as good as he'd thought, especially when his boyfriend and Kai had started talking all technically and shit) that put them one step closer to getting Biovolt's number.

The rest of the day was typically spent patrolling, checking in with other street-bladers and listening to all the different rumors. Rick particularly hated this part of the day because fuck, there was nothing that crushed his dreams of this being one big nightmare more than some young, tired-looking teenager telling him and his boyfriend how many other no-name street kids had died that the papers had missed.

It was just all so fucking horrifying. Watching these kids skulk around with hoods up and shattered eyes and blades loaded with intent to harm because they were all so fucking scared that they were going to be shot.

It begged the question just why wasn't something being done to help them? Hadn't the most recent politician voted into office sworn to do something about the number of kids on the streets? Why the fuck wasn't it working?

When he'd asked Carlos that his younger lover had just looked at him just red-rimmed coffee brown eyes that seemed to ask him: "were you ever really a street-blader?"

That look and his boyfriend's **grim** smile were all he really needed for an answer.

* * *

><p><strong>H is For Heated<strong>

It had taken another month before they'd been able to really start doing anything. Apparently Biovolt was being extra crafty this time around, doing all they could from murder to bribery to keep their tracks covered.

They should know after all, what with all the funerals they'd been attending lately.

That was why when Carlos had come running to him, his near-black eyes glowing for the first time in weeks, he'd known that the trail they'd been carefully watching had finally started to warm up.

And, as the younger blader sealed their lips together, he'd thought that maybe it wasn't just Biovolt's trail that had started to get **heated**.

* * *

><p><strong>I is For Implication<strong>

Rick tossed the media rag behind him with utter carelessness, almost unable to believe what the reporters had come up with to explain his recent disappearance from the New York blading scene.

Conflict between the BBA and PPB? That he'd gone to Africa on some kind of soul-searching mission? The hell? Were these people high when they came up with this shit?

The only one that had come even close to being truthful was the one stating he was in England with some mystery girl taking a 'Vacation of Love', as the headline had said.

Feh; try in Japan, attempting to stop an evil corporation intent on killing/corrupting his boyfriend and several other bladers from the shadows.

Not exactly a dream vacation, if you caught his drift.

But then, he thought as he watched Carlos drill a group of ten other bladers on how to use their beyblades in such a way as to protect themselves, if he had it his way all the rest of the world would have was their bloody **implications**.

* * *

><p><strong>J is For Jolt<strong>

It had been a distorting **jolt** to his system when he'd picked up Carlos's forgotten cellphone after it had rung shrilly for the eleventh time that hour only to have one Kai Hiwatari start yelling at him about picking up the stupid thing so that the people who cared about him didn't worry themselves to death.

The only thing worse than picking up the phone to Kai's screaming had been the deathly silence from the other line when he'd informed Kai that he wasn't Carlos.

From there Kai had questioned him; you know, the standard 'where, when, what, how' that everyone looking for someone asks before telling Rick not to worry and hanging up.

It had only been when he'd had the dial tone ringing in his ear that he'd realized that Kai didn't know where Carlos was either.

Carlos never came home that night.

* * *

><p><strong>K is For Kiss<strong>

Their last kiss hadn't been anything special, Rick speculated one night a couple days after Carlos was officially confirmed missing; glass bear bottle in hand.

They'd been standing in the living room of Carlos's little apartment at about nine the morning he'd disappeared; Carlos had just finished his grim ritual with the newspaper (he'd circled three that morning; two boys and a girl. The boys were Abbey and the girl, while street, had probably just gotten in the way, Carlos had said) and was just about to head out to do his rounds of lower Beycity.

Rick had stopped him before he'd left and dragged him in for one last long, sweet kiss before the younger blader had laughingly shoved him off, saying that if he didn't get going soon then he wouldn't be back before dark.

As it turned out, he wouldn't be coming back before dark regardless.

And now Rick regretted that he hadn't pleaded for just one more **kiss**.

* * *

><p><strong>L is For Loss <strong>

One week after the disappearance of Carlos Rick had opened the door to find Kai standing before him. The other blader had been dressed in nondescript, baggy clothes with a hood pulled up to cover his face which, with the aid of copious amounts of cover-up, was for once free of his tattoos. His eyes were still dark burgundy but the hoody helped to hide them just as much as it did his slate hair.

Honestly, the only reason Rick had even recognized him was because he'd been informed by another street blader about his impending visit.

That was the only way anyone seemed to communicate anymore; via messenger. Ever since Carlos disappeared paranoia had skyrocketed to such a point that no one trusted phones, email or other traceable means to talk, even if Kai had enough encryptions on everything that it would take years to un-code it all.

Without another word Rick stepped aside, letting the shorter teen in.

It wasn't long before Kai started speaking, short and to the point as always.

He started off by saying that Carlos wasn't dead and that if he was they (and likely everyone else; Kai was sure that if Carlos had been killed it would have been a rather public affair) would have heard about it. But, the younger teen had stated, voice dead; that didn't mean he should expect Carlos back. Biovolt was too cruel for that, he said. If they found Carlos, he would probably be twisted so badly that death might be a mercy.

It didn't take long for Rick to get sick of Kai's voice.

"Why are you telling me this?" Rick's voice was rough and his hands were fisted and anyone with half a brain could tell that he was all of two steps away from throwing the other blader up against the wall and strangling him.

"Because someone has too," Kai answered softly, "Because this is real Rick, and we might all die." Kai's eyes flashed a brighter shade of red as he regarded the older blader. "You have to be ready for that."

"Yeah?" Risk asked. "And what makes you think I'm going to have anything more to do with this shit?"

Because between emptying all those bear bottles and losing himself in the memories of his and Carlos's whirlwind romance; that had been his main question. Should he stay in Beycity and see this thing through or leave and go back to New York? Leave this ratty little apartment where he's had some of his best memories and go back to his big, empty high-rise? If Carlos was there to see him leave, would he be able to withstand the ravenette's disappointed stare?

If he stayed here, would he ever see Carlos again?

Kai just looked at him in this kind of sad, knowing way and headed for the door. Once there he quarter-turned so he was somewhat facing Rick before stating quietly: "Because you've already tasted loss and now that you have, you won't let yourself leave until you've made them bleed for making you."

And Rick didn't chase after him when he left or yell things at his retreating back because, deep down, he knew Kai was right.

He'd lost someone who'd changed him and loved him and made him remember what it was like to live and to blade without all the cameras and ratings and crap. He'd lost the person who, for the first time in ages, made life fun again for him.

And he wouldn't give up until he's avenged that **loss** and made Biovolt pay for it.

* * *

><p><strong>Heyo, everybody! Here's chapter two! A bit of a depressing one, isn't it? Sorry about that… Anyway, next chapter's going to be the climax of this thing and then it's just falling action and conclusion; shouldn't be too long until it's done, all things considered.<strong>

**It'd sure be nice to get a Review…**

**Anyway, later.**

**Sincerely,**

**BlackRoseGirl666 **


	3. Climax

**M is for Motive**

The gun-style launcher felt good in his hand, Rick thought. Familiar, though the one he'd had as a New York bey-gang captain hadn't been nearly as high-quality as the one he held now. It was very similar to the ones the then-Demolition Boys had used during the First World Championships (probably because one of their members, Ian, had made it) but for the color scheme (black and coffee-brown) and its capability to shoot real bullets as well as beyblades.

But then, Rick was learning, they probably had the bullet capability back then, too. The now-Blitzkrieg Boys were paranoid like that.

Casually Rick slipped the clip in, the other fifty-odd street bladers standing around him in the living room of Hiwatari Manor doing the same. At the front of the room Kai, Tala Ivanov and the other easily recognizable members of the Blitzkrieg Boys stood together confirming the strategy they would use during their ambush. Other cells of street-bladers around the city were likely doing the same.

They'd found Biovolt's current HQ, located right there in Beycity. According to Kai, they probably hadn't had enough funds left to bribe their way back into Russia.

Rick wasn't really sure how they'd found the place, nor how they'd confirmed that it really was Biovolt and not just one of the other beyblade-oriented scum that seemed to frequent this part of Japan, but they'd found it and they weren't going to be wasting any time storming it.

(In truth, Kai had tried to explain it; it was just that without Carlos there to translate the tech-babble all Rick had gotten from it was that the process had been long and complicated.)

Rick felt a ghastly smile curve his face. It had been a full month since Carlos had been taken; the celebrity media was in a tizzy over the recent public disappearance of the Blitzkrieg Boys and the older one of Rick himself, the New Yorker's phone was loaded with messages from his official team, and he was getting ready to go and hopefully spill some Biovolt blood. What a life.

Contrary to what many might have felt, though, Rick wasn't a particularly violent person, even in his street-blader years. There'd been some fights, some brutal bey-battles, but never once had he killed. It had never appealed to him like it had to some, he guessed.

He paused, his mind going back to that early morning he'd unknowingly kissed Carlos goodbye, the joking light that had warmed those dark brown eyes, a near-identical shade to the brown parts of his new launcher. He remembered the terror he'd felt when his boyfriend – the first romantic counterpart he'd ever really _cared_ for – had not come back to their dingy little haven. Rage welled inside Rick's chest.

No, Rick Anderson had never been a killer; it had just never appealed to him the way it had to some. But now, mind filled with the fear of never seeing cunning brown eyes again, he decided anything could happen with the right **motive**.

* * *

><p><strong>N is for Never <strong>

As seemed to be the theme of this sort of thing – as he'd gathered from listening to Granger run his mouth – they wound up captured. It had been a lot more of a bloody battle than what the fabled Bladebreakers usually got caught up with, Rick felt safe to assume, but they were still captured. At least half of Biovolt's forces were nothing but rotting meat now and their own forces were worse for wear as well, but yeah, in the end the adult mercenaries with semi-automatics had won. Who'd have figured?

What _had_ gone exactly to the plotline of a Bladebreaker-escapade, though, was the appearance of Boris Balkov and all his fallowing megalomania. The purple-haired fucker (who Rick had gone from just hating to craving the blood of by the end of his spiel) had tossed them a whole, waffling story of how all of this was an attempt to get Biovolt back on top, take over the world, yadda yadda yadda. Rick had tuned him out until –

"_And who's this? Rick, was it? Wouldn't happen to be the same Rick little Carlos cried out for during his punishments, would it?" _

During their original siege Rick had been part of a group directed to the makeshift holding cells, as Kai had figure that if Carlos was still be alive, he would be there. He'd seen the decimated bodies of kids who'd gone missing, how they'd flinched from help, begging not to be punished again, unable to recognize a friendly face from an enemy one.

"– _the same Rick little Carlos cried out for during his punishment, would it?" _

"– _little Carlos cried out for – " _

"– _cried out for –" _

Something in Rick had exploded. Rick Anderson was a big guy, 6'8 at least, and able to bench-press more than most seventeen-year-olds could dream about. He'd been raised in a rough part of New York by a single mother whose only rule regarding violence was hit to knock out if you couldn't hit to kill. The ropes they'd been tied with by the Biovolt scum had been old, left in the warehouse for years without proper attention to their storage, and while surely able to how someone powerful but slight like Kai and Tala or someone in control of themselves like Bryan and Spencer, they held little resistance against Rick's sudden bloodlust.

The first promise he'd ever given to Carlos was that Rick would only ever be a call away, no matter what the situation was.

The animal part of Rick's mind, a little piece he kept under lock and key, refused to let the disgusting sack of shit in front of him keep him from getting revenge for breaking his word. Boris Balkov would not be getting away from him, _**never**_ _ever_.

* * *

><p><strong>O is for Off<strong>

It was Kai who pulled him off of Balkov's remains, in the end. Kai, ever the practical one, had hidden a small knife within his wrist guards just in case they were tied up instead of thrown into more effective cells or handcuffed. Unlike most of them, it appeared Kai had anticipated Balkov's unclear thinking and made plans to use it to his advantage.

Several others had been freed by the point the silverette had whispered Rick's grim success in the raging seventeen-year-old's ear, Kai having handed off the knife to Tala once he'd cut the red head's ropes and gone to pull Rick from his rampage, unloading his own bullets with practiced aim into the chests of the Biovolt soldiers station about along the way.

He must have been working on the ropes throughout the bastard's entire speech, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, Rick thought, somewhat dazed.

Absently he recognized someone calling out orders, among them being directions to toss their gun-launchers into the nearby ocean, as well with commands to do the same with any other bloodied weapons. Someone shouted out the approximant time of arrival for the Beycity police, while others gave instruction on how to appear as nothing more than scared, batter kids.

In short, while Rick's head slowly pulled itself out of its bloodied haze, the many street-bladers surrounding him made work of setting up the perfect scene, one that was sure to gain them the allegiance of the media for months, if not years, to come.

Gently, someone – probably Kai – took Rick by the arm, whipped the blood – _that_ _bastard's_ _blood_ – from his face and hands and wherever else it had hit him before settling him down amongst another group, their voice soft as they gave someone, a guy Rick vaguely recognized, Carlos's third-in-command, he thought, orders to keep an eye on him.

Balkov's body was left where it lie, a smear of violence on the cement, a reason for the wary looks given to him by a bunch of kids with more blood on their hands than Rick could ever imagine. It would be left for the cops to deal with, probably; along with the bodies of those mercenaries who hand run off the second their boss had dropped and the rest of the dead.

As Rick's commonsense came back to him, accented by the high-low sound of sirens, so did come the aching realization that even though Balkov was dead, Carlos probably was too. Slowly, he began to wish that he'd thought to pop himself **off**, as well.

* * *

><p><strong>P is for Proof<strong>

As it turned out, none of them had ever needed to worry about evidence.

According to the police officer who'd addressed them and sent badly disguised winks at Kai, who stood by the uniform's side and looked on stoically, some blonde guy with a Spanish accent had walked into the station a while ago and gave them a folder with everything they'd need to get a conviction. He'd also made a point to tack on that there was so much evidence that the only testimony they'd need of the events that had taken place would be "Hiwatari-sama's."

Several in the assembly of bladers had snorted at the title (and blatant ass-kissing), to which Kai had only offered them a withering look.

It should be made note of that the Hiwatari family had always been in the habit of donating generous sums of money to the Beycity Police Department, to the point that they are the only department in their region not complaining about the government's recent cut backs. It might also be noted that the generosity of the Hiwatari family increased a little come Voltaire's incarceration and subsequent death and Kai's inheritance of the family's ridiculous fortune.

The fact that none of the cops on duty managed to correctly ID Miguel Lavalier, one of the most known faces in sports, was a testament to the relationship between the police and the Hiwataris, almost as much as the lack of media personnel on the scene was a statement on Kai's ties there as well.

Rick shook his head slightly; who, apparently, needed something as silly as **proof** when you were amongst friends, after all?

* * *

><p><strong>Q is for Question<strong>

The simple question of "did you check the basement?" was all Rick needed for his faith in law enforcement to be tentatively reaffirmed. No, indeed they hadn't checked the basement, simply because the blueprints for the shipping port hadn't shown that there _were_ any basements to be checked. According to this one officer though, an older guy who gruffly admitted to having a bit of a gambling problem, each structure had one in which one might be able to find some worthy opponents every now and then. As it were, the ring had been closed down for months though.

Rick had caught eyes with Kai immediately, the silverette obviously thinking the same as him, if only a little more cautiously.

They turned on their heels at the same moment, Kai barking orders over his shoulder before picking up his speed to match Rick's full-blown run and calling out that he needed to be careful, the Carlos might still be dead, that he needed to _think_.

But Rick, as many could attest, was not necessarily a thinker so much as he was doer; this meant that from time to time certain questions went over his head, or were ignored all together. But that question, holding so much hope in its answer, was one that he could work with.

And if it turned out he had assumed the wrong answer, well, that kind of doubt was why Rick wasn't a thinker.

* * *

><p><strong>R is for Ruin<strong>

The hospital lights did little to make the people they illuminated look at all healthy, Rick mused. The hard waiting room seats, white-and-pastel décor, and outdated magazines did little to offer anyone much comfort either. The coffee was trash, the chemical smells and dumpy little cafeteria worse; fuck, the place itself was enough the make you want to avoid injury. Perhaps that was the method behind it, Rick thought, as his eyes tracked the minute hand of the off-white analog hanging on the wall in front of him.

He'd been thinking things along those lines for the better part of four hours as he waited in the silent (and privet) mint-green room, Kai Hiwatari on his left, followed by Miguel Lavalier and Carlos's nervous-looking third-in-common who Rick really should have bothered to get the name of.

Lavalier had come into the room not two hours ago in a fit of righteous anger, face red and breathing hard until his eyes had zeroed in on Kai and the harsh emotions had just rolled off him. In less than four steps the older blader had swept the world-renowned 'Ice Prince of Beyblade' into a desperate hug-kiss combo, whispering rapid-fire Spanish at the other blader and bluntly refusing to let the silverette lose physical contact with him even after Kai had managed to calm the Spaniard down some, thus the reason why their hands were clasped tightly together even now.

Rick had watched the reunion stone-faced, using the fresh stinging in his knuckles as something to focus on when the rage he'd felt upon finding Carlos surfaced briefly at the reunion, more so at the haunting thoughts that he still may never get to experience his own version of that then the event itself.

They had found him, yes; but in no way did that mean they would get to keep him. At this point, Rick thought bitterly, all it meant was that the younger blader wouldn't die tied to the whipping post they'd found him bound to.

Rick tamped down a shudder and crossed his arms over his chest, a slow breath making its way into his lungs as he tried to will away the image. Carlos had looked so dead; his wet, gurgling breathing the only sound in that torture chamber of a basement, blood painting his back and sides and chest, bruises outlining his coffee eyes. Rick's mind had switched to auto-pilot, his thoughts stopping completely as he hacked away the ropes holding Carlos in place with Kai's knife and cradled his lover to him, now so much more delicate and thin than the sturdy, stocky build he was used to.

The next bit had gone by in a blur; worry, rage and relief tangling together like snakes. He'd ridden with his boyfriend in the ambulance, watched as the paramedics stabilized him as much as they could and prayed for coffee-coloured eyes to look back at him. Carlos hadn't woken once.

And now here he was, contemplating hospital décor in an effort to keep the memories out, his heart in his throat. He had already experienced crushing loss once, Rick thought desperately, he couldn't do it again!

Bitterly he thought Kai had been right that day he'd come to visit; once you taste loss, it doesn't leave you and you can't leave it until you've made them pay for making you taste it. Well, they'd paid, alright but it wasn't like he was free yet either, not with the possibly of getting back what he'd lost so terribly close.

For better or worse, he was there. For Heaven or Hell, he would remain.

He could only hope his choice wouldn't **ruin** him like it had the first time.

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><p><strong>Yipeeee! I updated, happy days! I hope you don't all hate me for how long it's taken to update, or the Hell I've put Rick and Carlos through. Anyway, thanks to <strong>

**XxFallingxAngelxX, and** **Garfakcy-chan for Reviewing!**

**Please everyone else Review too, if only on the format. It's kind of strange to write like this and I want to know what you think of it!**

**Also, the next chapter will be the last. I hope you enjoy it! **

**Sincerely,**

**BlackRoseGirl666 **


	4. Ending

**S is for Safe **

A deep, hallowing dread filled Carlos's soul upon his tenuous return to reality, a reaction triggered by childhood horror stories told of the strange labs that made up the back of the abbey – Balkov's Abbey – where he'd lived since he was small and the words each story started with: "there was a heavy smell of chemicals in the air…"

Panic built in his heart as consciousness tightened its strings, halting his escape back into the blankness he'd reveled in before. More of those chilling chemical smells – bleach being the most prominent among them– flew into his lungs, leading him to sputter for breath. His eyes remained closed, unwilling to confirm the nightmare he was sure he was trapped in, while his limbs remained locked still beneath the stiff blankets as to not attract attention. Somewhere in a place a far distance from where Carlos thought he was a beeping sound picked up its pace, almost like it was keeping time with his racing heart.

Yelling came from somewhere, a thunder of footsteps – though not the thudding clump of military footwear on stone, he noted, somewhat confused – following behind. His confusion was lost quickly though to instinct as soon as the first pair of hands came into contact with his trembling skin.

Animal power reared up in him as he jerked himself free of the grasp, his eyes snapping open only for the sudden light to disorient him. The dull presence of pain he'd felt in his torso and back flared to vivid life with his sudden movements, leaving him breathless, nauseous, and too weak to do little more than curl in on himself and hiss threats in what he hoped was understandable _something_; the three languages he knew – Russian, English and Japanese – having become muddled in his brain.

That was when he felt them; a pair of large, strong, soothing hands on his back, shortly accompanied by a warm voice in his ear, speaking in soft Americanized tones. He knew those hands, Carlos realized dizzily, and that voice had lulled him to sleep more times than his dignity would let him remember under normal circumstances.

_Rick, _the street blader thought achingly, one brown eye slipping open haltingly, hopefully – utterly terrified of what he'd do if it was an illusion brought on by Biovolt drugs or his own mental instability. To his relief, neither the hands resting lightly on his back – careful of his newly bleeding injuries, no doubt – nor his lover's sweet voice faded.

Slowly familiar features – smooth, cocoa skin, steely eyes, white hair – came into focus, the most treasured of which being the look of utter, painfully sincere love on the other's face, the unchecked worry and care; things Carlos had come to associate with home over the months and had almost died without over the last few weeks.

A strangled little laugh slipped past Carlos's chapped lips as he was pulled under by something once again, perhaps a sedative of some sort, the panic leaking from his frame more so due to the person beside him than the drugs making their way through him.

Rick was there, after all, Carlos rationalized, his eyes growing heavy; and if there was one person he trusted to keep him **safe**, it was his American.

* * *

><p><strong>T is for Triumph <strong>

Rick lay beside Carlos with barely disguised exhaustion in every line of his body. In his arms, Carlos slept peacefully, a rare occurrence even after some two months having passed them by since the black-haired blader had regained consciousness in the hospital.

Gently Rick ran his fingers through the younger blader's choppy hair, more to reassure himself that Carlos was still there, that the nightmare that had woken him up hadn't been real. As it turned had out, physical or legal repercussions of Biovolt's last stand were the least of their worries.

What had really seemed to stick, Rick thought bitterly, were the nightmares. They had become a common point in both their lives, to the point that sleeping solidly through the night was becoming a dream of its own. The physical wounds, the media attention (most of it having been diverted early-on via Kai's influence), all of that faded over time. The memories, on the other hand… not so much.

Sighing, Rick buried his head amongst the pillows and pressed himself as close as he dared to Carlos; taking comfort in the presence of the other. He would never be able to express how glad he was to have the shorter teen back.

Biovolt could have their victory in his nightmares, Rick thought, so long as he had his **triumph** in the real world.

* * *

><p><strong>U is for Us<strong>

Carlos had survived with an 'Us verse Them' mentality for a long time. This hadn't changed since he'd been small, nor had it after meeting Rick, or after defeating Biovolt for what _had_ to be the last time.

He still thought stadium bladers were weak, annoying, arrogant and thoroughly in the Them category, along with the media, most authority figures, and the common public. He still thought there was nothing wrong with street blading and all that came with it, and he still wished Dickinson's do-gooder recruiters would quick hanging about the blading slums, trying to 'help' out the more talented individuals.

In fact, the only thing that had changed about Carlos's way of thinking was who was on the **Us** side.

And, leaning back against Rick's strong chest (as he'd been wont to do since his wounds had healed), the dark-eyed blader thought that a better change couldn't have come from the latest fiasco.

* * *

><p><strong>V is for Viewed <strong>

The media viewed him as a fallen sports legend, the All Starz as a bumbling disgrace, Dickinson with a grandfatherly frown, and most everyone else with great shock. This was how Rick summed up the world's perspective of him when he had announced that he was leaving professional blading for something 'less restrictive'.

(It should be noted that he'd never said what his new something was less restrictive about, be it rules or scheduling, but Rick figured those who should have been told could figure it out on their own, if they bothered.)

None of that mattered to Rick, though. Not when he came home to Carlos, who greeted him with a kiss, or met eyes with Kai and saw something warmer than grudging respect but not quite friendship (yet) shining there. It didn't matter at all, when he walked down the streets of the seedy side of Beycity and knew he was viewed as a comrade rather than an intruder.

From his own point of **view**, Rick thought, things couldn't have been any better.

* * *

><p><strong>W is for Wander <strong>

Neither Rick nor Carlos had ever been very stationary people. Yes, each had tended to keep in their respective areas (New York and Beycity), and Rick had stuck with the PPB for a rather long spell, but at heart neither of them had ever really thought of what they were doing as permanent, or of settling down.

They still didn't, Carlos thought, deeply amused as Rick tried and failed at snorkeling during their trip to Hawaii some four months after the Biovolt attacks, but at least now they had someone to **wander** _with_.

* * *

><p><strong>X is for X (the Roman Numeral) <strong>

Ten months from their first meeting found the pair drastically different from where they had begun.

Rick was no longer a PPB All Star; rather he was currently a blading coach for a minor's league, where he taught self-defense after training them to blade. Carlos, with knowledge gleaned from his years of scavenging beyblade parts, no longer taught how to do so in alleyways but rather how you could repair your own stuff with some simple tools. They were together – almost always, some of their students would note, giggling – and living in a sea-side Australian town where it was warm all the time, the media didn't bother them and, if need absolutely be, the people who mattered could find them easily.

Kai and Miguel dropped by sometimes, though not enough to be bothersome. More annoying (to Rick at least) were the calls they received from Carlos once third-in-command (who Rick _still_ didn't know the name of), now the leader of the Bey-Sharks. It seemed the brat always needed help with something and only Carlos's advice would do. Said blader found it funny, Rick found it redundant.

Their wounds had healed well, leaving behind thin white lines on Carlos's back and a couple bones that ached every now and then. Nightmares were becoming less common and while, technically, Rick could now be called a murderer he was rather guiltless towards it; the same way the fucked with don't feel guilty over killing their tormentor, he supposed.

Looking back, Rick couldn't call the last ten months kind, exactly. They'd been too tainted by Biovolt's madness for that. The future **ten** months, hell, the future infinitely, would be spectacular, however, if Carlos answered one little question the way Rick hoped.

With that the New Yorker placed the little black ring box in his pocket and left the store, the sales attendant smiling giddily behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Y if for Yes<strong>

The ring was simple, the band made of Damascus steel with a stripe of something shiny and black – black Alaskan diamond, perhaps – cutting through the middle. It was tied to the neck of the beer Rick had handed him with a piece of white string, innocent and casual but for the border-line terrified look his lover of ten-ish months was giving him.

They were sitting down by the water, legs dangling over the side of the dock, the sun going down in front of them and casting everything in orangey light. Rick had offered him the bottle in a happier parody of the first time they'd met to drink somewhere high off the ground, on the eve of Carlos's second-in-command's death.

Carlos looked at the ring with something akin to shock in his chest, the feeling bleeding into a crazy kind of happy rather quickly. Placing the bottle and ring in a place where he wouldn't accidently knock them into the ocean Carlos spun on his boyfriend (now fiancé, though the actual wedding would have to take place in a country where it was actually recognized, he thought, somewhat annoyed) and proceeded to kiss the hell out of him.

"So, this mean yes, I take it?" Rick asked some hours later as they lay in their bed, Rick wearing nothing at all and only a small strip of skin on Carlos's ring finger hidden away from his new fiancé's eyes.

Carlos flashed him a wicked smile and kissed him soundly once again, "**yes**, forever and always, love."

* * *

><p><strong>Z is for Zenith <strong>

It was a rare rainy morning, the sun shining lazily through the window as though it weren't worth the effort. By an even rarer streak of luck both Rick and Carlos were free that day too, which allowed them to side with the sun when it came to whether or not doing anything noticeable was worth it. A couple of barely understandable noises later, they had decided that their bed was the best place to spend the day.

Hours melted by in an identical way, lost between hazy kisses and light dozing. Eventually Carlos had gone for food, returning a moment later with something sweet and hot that Rick now thought was his favourite. When the night eventually came the rain had stopped the couple decided to do what most young people did and head out for a night of clubbing, something neither had experience in but both wound up finding enjoyable, to the degree that when they wound up back in their bedroom it certainly wasn't to sleep.

This was what their **zenith **looked like, their high-point; and like hell if they would ever let it fall to where it had once been.

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><p><strong>And it's done! I hope you all had fun reading this, like I did writing it, and that I didn't mess anything up too much ;) <strong>

**And that the fandom finally realizes that Carlos exists! Jeez, people. He's like the very first antagonist the forming Bladebreakers face! **

**Anyway, special thanks to **_**Garfakcy-chan! **_**The only reason this thing was even written/completed!**

**Love to you all and please Review!**

**Sincerely,**

**BlackRoseGirl666**


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